


The Summer of 1899

by static_abyss



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Feels, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Community: hp_drizzle, Friends to Lovers, HP Drizzle Fest 2020, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Minor Albus Dumbledore/Elphias Doge, Morally Ambiguous Character, Pre-Canon, Unrequited Albus Dumbledore/OFM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:00:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25193560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/static_abyss/pseuds/static_abyss
Summary: The cicadas are humming on that humid summer day when Albus meets Gellert for the first time. What follows is an intense, passionate affair that lasts for one perfect summer.
Relationships: Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald
Comments: 12
Kudos: 57
Collections: HP Drizzle Fest 2020





	The Summer of 1899

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gracerene](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracerene/gifts).



> I've been planning an Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald fic since I was fifteen so running into Drizzle Fest and then getting this prompt sort of felt like fate. That said, this fic wouldn't be what it is without Bea, the wonderful beta who helped me get it into shape. They did their best and any remaining mistakes are my own.
> 
> Thank you to the mods for hosting this fest. It has truly been a blast.

Ariana is crying again, one long drawn-out wail that pierces the silence of an otherwise pleasant night. Outside, the cicadas have finally ceased their song and the streets are quiet. Even the darkness and the stillness can't keep the heat away from Albus's room as he waits, listening to the far off sounds of Aberforth climbing the attic stairs. He doesn't move. He and Aberforth know that of the two of them, Aberforth has always been better equipped to understand broken things. 

In the morning, they'll not speak of this or of the way Albus has refrained from visiting Ariana since he came back from Hogwarts. He tells himself it's because he'd had funeral arrangements to review, because his mother's memorial had taken up most of his time. The truth is that he can't bear to look at her and know that despite her sad intelligent blue eyes, he's not going to let her out. It's for her own safety, at the end. That is what their mother had always said. 

The morning dawns, the heavy heat an enduring presence as Albus makes his way down to the kitchen. The air is humid indoors, that thick wet scent of a rainy summer permeating throughout the house from the open kitchen window. It will be worse outside but Albus heads out anyway, intending only to run to the corner and buy Ariana's favourite biscuits. He'll leave them on the table for Aberforth to take up later with tea.

Outside, light grey clouds spread out over the distance, blocking the sun. It smells like rain, wet stone, and the fresh scent of mowed grass. Almost at once, Albus feels sweat gathering at the top of his head and as he removes his glasses to wipe at the condensation, Bathilda Bagshot opens her front door. She's wearing a robe tied at the waist and after a quick look down the street, she pulls out her wand and waves it over her garden. 

Albus watches the withered petals on her azaleas twirl in the air and rearrange themselves in a pile over the vegetable patch next to them. She waves her wand again and the closed buds of her roses open into bright red flowers, their perfume wafting across the garden and over to Albus. He scratches at his nose and tries not to sneeze. 

"Albus," Bathilda says, her deep brown eyes wrinkling at the corners with her smile. "Good to see you out and about."

Albus smiles because it's easier to play along. He doesn't want her to worry and start asking questions. It's better when the people around them stay away, when Albus can control how far to let them in. Bathilda knows too much already, has been kind to his mother and Ariana. Kendra Dumbledore had trusted that she wouldn't say anything but Albus's mother is dead and he's not as willing to share their secrets.

"Good morning," he says. "How is the research coming along?"

Bathilda sighs, waving her wand once more to get her mail to float over to her from her cat-shaped mailbox. "It's progressing well. I heard you'd met with Nicholas Flamel." 

Albus shakes his head. "Nothing of the sort," he says. "I only told Elphias that I'd considered adding Paris as one of our stops."

"Ah, the grand tour," she says, shaking her head. "Shame you've had to postpone it. But I imagine it must be a comfort to you to be near your family at a time like this."

The summer breeze flows humid, making the heat rise onto Albus's face. It spreads across his cheeks, more heat than colour as he looks off into the empty streets. It's early enough that none of their other neighbours are out. There's no one else to witness the way Albus schools his features into an expressionless mask. 

"Of course," he says. "Family must always come first."

Bathilda nods, sympathy etched into her expression as she looks over Albus. "You know," she says. "My nephew is about your age and he's coming to stay with me for a while. He's due to arrive later today. Come by in the afternoon, I'll introduce you. I think the two of you will get along."

Albus forces his attention back on her, wishing he'd started a different conversation. There's a lot about Bathilda's studies in magic that interests him and that would make for better conversation. He doesn't want to be rude but the day is humid, his mother is dead, and Ariana and Aberforth loom like roadblocks in the distance.

He makes his excuses and continues on his way, eyes straight ahead as he walks down the street to the corner shop. He doesn't venture further than that, hasn't made an effort to step into the Muggle part of Godric's Hollow in a long time. There's been no need and Albus hasn't found the way to do so without it feeling loaded in unwanted meaning. 

He's tired already of the repetitive conversations, of the consoling looks, and the questions about what he's going to do now. Even without Ariana, there's Aberfroth to consider, what it means that their mother won't be around to take care of their sister. That there are three more years before Aberforth graduates and Albus is free to resume his original plan of travelling the world with Elphias Doge. By himself, if he has to, any way that he can as long as he can leave behind the humidity and the pity, those knowing glances from Bathilda. 

He would do anything to never again have to step foot into the cramped house which holds their ghosts, the memory of his mother's panicked face whenever Ariana tried to leave, the absence of his father in the pictures that decorate their sitting room. He can feel the solid weight of mistakes that were never his, of dangerous inherited legacies that Albus has worked hard to rid himself of. But he is his father's son at the end of the day and so, he must do what is necessary to protect what's left of his family. No matter how much he wishes he didn't have to. No matter how angry he might be that his mother wasn't more careful. 

He doesn't linger on the fact that she could have done it on purpose, that she, out of all of them, knew best Ariana's moods, that she could have seen the explosion coming. He tries not to resent the fact that his mother is dead and Albus must carry their family forward.

He thinks of a Ministry job, of the hundreds of letters that have come to him over the course of his studies at Hogwarts. He could find a job anywhere he wanted, something respectable to keep Aberfoth in school and Ariana hidden. Another desk job with a set schedule, something he could do from home, something that would keep them all safe again. He could replace his mother, fill her shoes and pretend their family hasn't been falling apart since their father died in Azkaban. 

He hates Godric's Hollow, the pointless monotony, the lazy summer breeze, and that suffocating heat that threatens to hold him in place. Too hot to move, too hot to run. He's trapped here, the cicadas humming their neverending songs. An omen for the rest of Albus's life. He will die here, tethered to the two-floor stone cottage with the white fence and the dying weeds. Barren but for the little birds that land on their roof and sing in the mornings before the sun gets too hot and they leave. 

Albus sighs as he makes it to the store on the corner, red brick sides, with black doors and spotless windows. Inside, he can see a witch about his age with long hair pulled away from her face and blood-red lipstick. She's flipping through a Prophet, her eyes trailing over the pages, bored and tired looking. Even the makeup on her face seems half-hearted as though she'd given up the moment it came time to pull her look together. Albus looks at her through the window, memorises the shape of her mouth, tries to find in her features something to like. She's beautiful, delicate fingers, her skin a lovely brown that almost shines in the sunlight from the window. 

Albus watches her as he steps through the door, sees the interest in her eyes as she takes in his auburn hair, his long nose, and his blue eyes. She smiles and Albus returns it automatically, something that feels forced but comes out friendly, as though his body is making up for Albus's lack of experience.

He blames studies, the number of things there are to learn in the world. He's wanted to devour knowledge since he'd entered the stone walls of Hogwarts, that desire to learn, burning through him as he'd sat through his classes. Still, he'd never have made it in Ravenclaw. That self-righteous claim to intelligence would have stifled him. He'd chosen well when he'd asked the hat to put him in Gryffindor, a place free enough that Albus had stood out.

Even so, there had never been enough time at Hogwarts to allow the stares of girls his age, and the quiet fumbling with Elphias had simply been a means to an end. Nobody had interested him long enough to distract him from the things Albus had set out to do. He'd hoped that if he made enough noise, people might forget who his father had been. That with the intelligence he'd been granted, he might take their family name to newer heights, might by himself, pull the Dumbledore name out of the gutter. 

"Good morning," he says now to the beautiful witch at the counter. 

She smiles, dimples on her cheeks. "Morning," she says. 

There's a keenness to her greeting that would be easy to pursue. He thinks that her company might be a distraction, no matter how fleeting, in the otherwise endless summer awaiting him. Something uncomplicated that would require little from him as she's so obviously interested in his attention. Anything really to keep him from the house, from Aberforth's judgement and Ariana's more lucid moments. 

"Would you be so kind as to tell me where you keep the good biscuits?" he says, his smile serene, the perfect picture of innocence. 

"Delphine," she says, holding her hand out, her eyes on Albus. 

He has her if he wants her and knowing that takes the thrill away. Too easy, too bloody predictable. But she's offering and he has nothing better to do this summer. None of his new friends expect to hear from him before the summer is done. He's supposed to be in mourning, spending time with his family, healing. Though from what, Albus has never been sure. There are scars that run too deep to ever smooth out, things that his father has done that will haunt their family forever. Things like his mother's fear and her secrets, ever-present in the things Albus did as a child, always making him look twice over his shoulder before he went anywhere.

He's young and there's a hunger that runs deep in his veins and Delphine is, for all intents and purposes, the safest choice.

"Albus," he says at last. "Would you like to go for a walk?"

-

The sun hides behind dark grey clouds as Albus walks down the street back to his house. Delphine chatters away at his side, her perfume delightfully distracting as they make their way through the heat. She'd left her brother in charge of the store, a young freckled teen who'd taken one look at Albus and smirked as though he knew a secret Albus wasn't privy to. 

Delphine coughs delicately and Albus knows he's missed something important from the frown on her face.

"I'm sorry," he says, turning apologetic eyes in her direction. "It's my mother, you see."

"Kendra," she nods, her expression sympathetic, a carbon copy of the looks Albus has been getting over the last few days.

He's been home less than a week and he already knows how the dance goes. He smiles sadly at Delphine, accepts her hand on his arm, her condolences. She leans into him, presses her body as close as is decent in the open. This close, she smells overwhelmingly like flowers, an artificial scent that lodges at the back of Albus's throat and makes him want to gag. He's made a mistake in inviting Delphine on this walk. But he finds that he can't muster the strength necessary to extract himself from the situation, so he resigns himself to her company for the next few days, instead.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" she asks, batting her eyelashes.

As they get closer to his house and she smiles at him, he knows it will take longer than a few days to get her to leave him be. He considers going to his house and introducing her to Aberforth, letting his brother's general unwelcoming air drive her away. Already he has his excuses made, apologies for Aberforth's behaviour, asking her to understand that they're going through a difficult time as a family. Pushing her away until she leaves feeling sorry for him. 

"Would you like to keep me company at mine for a while?" he asks. 

"Please," she says, looping her arm through his as they make their way past old Barty's house. 

There's only a small garden to step past before they're in front of Bathilda's place and Albus plays with the thought of going to hers instead. He imagines an afternoon with Bathilda, discussing spells and research, will put a damper on Delphine's interest, and a day with Bathilda is preferable to Aberforth's judgement. He's still working on how best to present the invitation to Delphine when he sees him, a young man, someone new to the village. 

The young man is beautiful in the summer sun as he leans against the mailbox in front of Bathilda's house. He has golden hair that falls in waves across his forehead, mostly slicked back away from his face so that Albus can see his eyes. The one on the left is bright cornflower blue and the one on the right is hazel with a ring of dark blue in the centre around the pupil. He smiles, a slow unfurling of mirth as he looks from Albus to Delphine at his side. 

The young man stands up straight, his movements deliberate, calling attention to the long lean lines of his body, the charmingly disarrayed collar of his shirt. Around them, the cicadas hum, the summer air pressing in from all sides, warming the sides of Albus's face. He sees the young man's eyes trail down Albus's body, a lazy once-over that sets off heat down Albus's spine. He can feel that stare like a brand, something physical that feels like fingers down his back.

"Hello, Albus," the young man says, his accent pristine, words over-articulated, careful with his pronunciation.

 _A foreigner_ , Albus thinks, doesn't think to wonder how this young man knows his name. Knows only that he can't look away, that the young man notices, that his eyes trail like fire down Albus's skin until it's all he can do to stand still. 

"I didn't know you were bringing a friend," the young man says, reaching past Albus to take Delphine's hand.

He brushes against Albus on his way, a solid press of his arm against Albus's, a spark of electricity that travels up Albus's spine. He inhales sharply against the feeling, finds to his mortification that he's almost gasping for breath. 

Something is wrong.

"I'm sorry to say that we'll be helping Aunty Bathilda with her research today," the young man says. "Terribly boring—"

He pauses, waits for Delphine to catch up.

"Ah," she says, blushing prettily. "I'm Delphine. My parents own the shop on the corner."

"A pleasure, Delphine. I'm Gellert," he says and though he looks at Delphine, Albus knows the words are meant for him. 

"Nice to meet you," Delphine says, turning to Albus. "I'll see you around."

Gellert smiles, draws himself to his full height and throws a companionable arm around Albus's shoulders. 

He smiles disarmingly at Delphine. "I'm sure you will, love."

Delphine nods and heads back down the road. Albus watches her go, doesn't really see her. He can feel Gellert's arm around his shoulders like a brand, hot and significant. He does his best not to shiver. 

"Well, I do hope that lasts more than a few hours," Gellert says at last. 

"Excuse me," Albus says, hates how breathless he sounds.

Gellert smiles, all teeth. "You looked like you needed an escape."

He drops his hand from Albus's shoulder and the sudden disappointment is unexpected. Albus says nothing as he looks over Gellert, tall and blond. His trousers and shirt are new but ruffled, his hair artfully tousled. He looks breathtaking in the sunlight, the heavy weight of summer air falling over them as they stand. Albus can hear the far off sounds of the neighbourhood coming alive, the creaking of wooden doors and laughter as people head outside. 

Albus should get home. 

But he stands in the street, his eyes on Gellert, Bathilda's handsome nephew with the too-knowing eyes, something new and dangerous in them, as though he knows things Albus can't even begin to imagine. It's nothing like Delphine's brother. There's no slyness in Gellert's expression. It's certain, unequivocal knowledge of truths Albus isn't privy to yet. He feels that stare like a brand until Gellert smiles and leans back on Bathilda's mailbox.

"You should get home," he says. 

Albus doesn't move, something about the moment holding him in place. Bathilda said the whole summer but this moment with Gellert feels fragile and finite. 

"I'll be here," Gellert says. "Nowhere to go really. This village is so small, I saw all of it on my way in."

Albus shrugs. "It's quaint," he says.

Gellert's expression is calculating as he takes in Albus, his eyes ever so careful as they look him over. "It's okay," he says, grinning. "You're allowed to say it's boring."

Albus shakes his head, pretends he isn't trying to muss up his hair.

"I'm having a birthday tea," Gellert says, tilting his head to the side as he continues to stare. "You're invited, of course. Aunty Bathilda wants me to have friends my age."

Albus feels exposed, his robes doing nothing to keep him safe from Gellert's wandering eyes. "Oh," he says, trying to sound in control of himself. "How old are you?"

"Seventeen tomorrow," Gellert says. "You?"

"Eighteen at the end of the summer," Albus says, doesn't say August, doesn't know why.

"Perfect," Gellert says. "A boy my age."

"Almost what you needed," Albus says, catches the meaning behind his words and presses on anyway.

Gellert looks at him, a cold calculating look in his eyes, before he breaks out in a smile, a thing so full of boyish charm and delightful mischievousness that Albus can't help but return it.

"Oh," Gellert says, slowly. "I think you'll come to find that you're exactly what I needed. 

It's too forward too soon, but the ache in Albus's chest as Gellert's smile breaks across his handsome face has to mean that this isn't a mistake. 

-

Albus brings Delphine to Gellert's birthday tea because Gellert said he should, because he doesn't want to be alone with him yet. Because the way Albus feels uncoordinated and clumsy bothers him. He's never presumed to be the suavest, but he doesn't like the way he suddenly feels so young in Gellert's presence, how a wave from him in the mornings is enough to trip Albus up on his way to Delphine's. 

He brings Delphine because she's safe and when they get to Bathilda's that Friday, Gellert welcomes them. He ushers them into the kitchen and spends the time flirting with Delphine. She takes it in stride, rolls her eyes conspiratorially at Albus as if to tell him that he needn't worry. Albus watches them all afternoon, the way Gellert pushes inexorably closer until Delphine has to physically shove him away.

He steps back, arms out at his sides. "Fair enough," he says. "I was just teasing."

Delphine rolls her eyes, suggests something stronger than tea. She brought a bottle of firewhiskey and they pass it around, singing happy birthday as the clock in Bathilda's kitchen rings, signalling seven o'clock. 

"Listen," Gellert says when the bottle is half-empty and Albus can feel the alcohol relaxing him. 

He blinks lazily, his eyes on the shape of Gellert's mouth, the way he forms his words. Albus wants to know how he does it, how he can take something as banal as the Statute of Secrecy and make it sound interesting and important.

"We shouldn't have to hide," he says. "Muggles need us. They're weak and we have magic. Imagine the good we could do."

Delphine waves her hand in the air. "Wouldn't work," she says. "Remember the Salem Witch Trials."

Gellert shakes his head. "The Salem Witch Trials only happened because the witches and wizards caught didn't want to fight back. It'd be different this time," he says, almost feverish in his rush to get the words out. "We'd hold the power. We're strong enough."

Albus hears Delphine's laugh but he's struck momentarily speechless by what Gellert is saying. He can see where the conversation is going, the possibilities of a controlled exposure, the amount of good they could do for humankind. They have magic and the Muggles do not. 

"We'd be doing them a favour," Gellert says. "Some of them can be so cruel to each other. It's pointless death when we can just give them what they need. We could build something great."

"Something good," Albus says, despite himself.

He hears Delphine sigh next to him but he's captivated by the eagerness in Gellert's expression, that fervent openness as he looks at Albus. 

"Yes," he says, breathless. "Exactly. If we're careful, we can make it a better world."

"For the greater good," Albus says.

They're looking at each other, stuck in a moment of perfect understanding. They could do so much good, could prevent so much pain. Albus lets himself imagine it, a world where Ariana wouldn't have to hide, where she'd be allowed to live her life and he'd be allowed to live his. A world where Aberforth wouldn't have to shoulder their parents' responsibilities. 

They'd have to be so careful though, keep each other in check so that no one gets ahead of themselves. 

"You see it, don't you?" Gellert whispers, leaning forward over the kitchen table, his eyes on Albus. 

Delphine scoffs and Albus turns to her, surprised to see her next to him. She rolls her eyes when Albus looks at her, shakes her head as though dismissing Gellert.

"What?" Albus asks.

She shrugs. "Okay," she says. "Say I think you have the right idea, that you can use magic to fix the Muggles' problems and create this magical world where the Muggles don't kill us for having magic when they don't. Who's to say exactly what constitutes the greater good? You?"

Gellert turns to her. "Yes," he says, simply. "Me."

She laughs and there's a moment where Gellert goes pale and quiet and Albus thinks he means to strike her. But it passes and then Gellert's smiling again, something pitying in his expression. 

"Why, my dear Delphine," he says. "I'm hurt."

"Nonsense," she says, gathering her things. "Albus, shall we go?"

Gellert turns assessing eyes on Albus. His smile when it comes is slow and deliberate. "Yes, Albus," he says. "Shall we go?"

He should take Delphine home, Albus knows. But he stands there, his eyes on Gellert, wondering where they could possibly go at this hour. 

"Albus," Delphine says again.

"I'll be right back," Albus says. "Delphine's only sixteen. She can't Apparate yet."

He hears Delphine's scoff, cuts her off before she can say she's going by herself. It's dark and Albus was the one who invited her. He walks her back, pretends he isn't thinking of Gellert in his black robes, his pale face and his calculating eyes. Delphine doesn't stay long enough for Albus to make promises he won't keep and he gets back faster than he expected, pushes open the door into Bathilda's sitting room. He makes his way to the kitchen, the silence of the house settling over him. 

Gellert's standing where Albus left him, leaning against the backdoor. "Hello again," he says.

Albus looks at him and there's something about the room, the moonlight coming from the window, that feels off. He's overly aware of how alone they are but Gellert motions to one of the empty kitchen chairs and Albus takes a seat. They watch each other across the table and it's Gellert who breaks the silence.

"Tell me more about the greater good," he whispers.

His words fill the space between them until Albus can almost feel their heaviness on his shoulders. This is important, though he doesn't quite understand in what way. The June night is warm and there's something hungry in Gellert's expression that Albus recognises, an almost wild reach for the truth. So Albus tells him about Ariana, about the Muggle boys, about his father. Gellert listens, says, "It's not fair," and in the quiet of the tiny kitchen, the words ring true for the first time in Albus's life. 

"I promise we can change that," Gellert says, reaching across the table to take Albus's hands. "We can change everything."

"For the greater good," Albus says, to make sure, because it matters.

Gellert's gaze is unwavering as he looks into Albus's eyes. "For the greater good," he says, nodding. 

-

It's so easy to fall into place besides Gellert, to commiserate about the limits of their education, about having been two bright boys constrained by the intelligence of their peers. They take to walking down to the fields past the entrance to Godric's Hollow on the opposite end of the cemetery. It's easier at night, when Aberforth and Ariana are asleep and Albus can sneak out to meet Gellert where their backyards connect, the small white fence doing little to keep them apart. 

They're so much alike, it's a wonder they weren't brought together sooner, something about how they fit, speaking to the inevitability of their meeting. Gellert says it too, says it in so many different ways that Albus doesn't have to hear it to know that Gellert's a Seer. He's tempted to ask, to confirm, but it's so much easier to follow Gellert under the moonlight, their shadows spreading out before them as they find a hill to their liking. 

In the silence of the summer nights, they lie down in the grass and talk. Albus tells Gellert about his father, about going to Hogwarts and hearing the whispers about him, watching the Muggle-borns shying away from him. He tells him about needing to make a name for himself, about how he'd worked so hard to erase his past. 

One night, toward the end of June, he talks of his mother so quietly, he could almost be saying nothing.

"I am who I am despite her," he says, meaning it more than he can put into words. "If I do anything with my life, it will be because I worked for it, because I fought for it."

"I know," Gellert whispers. "I fought too."

They lie in the summer grass, the fields dotted with the closed buds of wildflowers. In between the softness of their breaths, Gellert's voice rings wicked and true. His cadence lulls Albus in until it's all he can do to pay attention, something warm pooling at the bottom of his stomach. He can feel the words like caresses, undeniable in the way Gellert delivers them, truths lost to the cool night. He tells Albus about Durmstrang and the things he'd done with the other boys, how in the morning they'd laughed at him and he'd hurt them.

"I wanted to," he says, "because they hurt me first."

Albus thinks of the quiet disapproval on the faces of his professors, the silent judgment whenever he and Elphias sat too close. He understands the danger in allowing himself to feel these things, to think the anger just. But Gellert whispers about wanting things he shouldn't and Albus listens to him, lets himself feel the sudden panic, the anger at his own response.

He's been angry for so long without realising it. Angry at his father for leaving and dying in Azkaban when his family needed him. Angry at his mother because Ariana was her responsibility. Angry at Aberforth because he's the best of all of them and Albus won't ever measure up to him no matter how much he tries. 

He wants to go to Paris, to get lost among the dark corners of the city, where things can happen and no one bats an eye. He imagines Gellert, his beautiful face shining in the Paris sun. How alive he'd be in the city of love, the sound of their laughter carried over the Thames, lost to the morning rush. They'd be beautiful together, Albus and his auburn hair, Gellert and his mess of curls, both the same height, wickedly intelligent and bright. Brighter perhaps than any wizard alive, the world in their hands. 

They could do anything on their own and Albus can't begin to imagine the things they could do together. How much power must lay between the two of them. How much damage they could do to each other.

"You have to promise me something," Albus says, breaking the silence. 

Gellert turns on his side in the grass. His eyes are serious as he looks at Albus. "For you, dear friend, anything."

"Don't leave me," Albus says, and it isn't what he meant to say but it's true enough.

Gellert's silence hangs heavy with unspoken things but he leans forward to shorten the space between them. "I promise," he says. "If you promise not to hurt me."

Albus thinks of Hogwarts and its stone walls, of Ariana curled up in the attic, Aberforth, her constant guardian. He thinks of his mother and her greying hair, how much she'd loved his father, how much his absence had cost her. Never hurt me, Gellert has said and Albus knows this is the one promise he won't be able to keep. 

He turns to Gellert, moves closer, lets the shortening distance between them register. "I promise," he whispers, so low it might get lost in the humming of the cicadas. 

-

The girl is beautiful, her blue robes swirling around her as she turns for Gellert. Whatever he's telling her makes her laugh and she blushes prettily, her pouty mouth the perfect shape for kissing. Albus watches her from his spot by the tree. He leans against it, the rough bark pulling at his robes. He pays it no mind as he watches the way Gellert kisses the girl's hand, how he bows over it, makes a show of winking at her. By the time he turns to go, he has her captivated. She'd do whatever he asked.

Albus tries not to resent her as Gellert crosses the garden toward him. 

"Good morning Albus," he says, smiling.

The sly expression on his face says that he knows what Albus is feeling. But Albus has stopped keeping his feelings a secret ever since that night they made their promises to each other. He doesn't hide the way his heart beats out of rhythm when Gellert gets too close, too fast. How he wants with an ache that surprises him, something horrible and desperate. His skin itches and it's all Albus can do to keep his hands from shaking. 

"Come to mine later," Gellert says now. "Stay the night."

Albus thinks of Aberforth at home, spares a moment for Ariana. They can handle themselves without him. 

Later, he doesn't tell Aberforth where he's going, slips out unseen once it's dark. Gellert waits for him at the fence where their backyards meet. He's dressed and Albus allows the disappointment to settle within him. He tells himself that it doesn't matter that it's not tonight because he can feel how they're headed inevitably toward each other. It's only a matter of time.

"Where are we going?" Albus asks. 

"You'll see," Gellert says, winking. 

Albus follows, would follow him anywhere, and he spares a thought to how much he resembles the girl from this morning, how utterly Gellert has him in his grasp. 

"Lead the way," he says. 

Together, they set off into the dark, the grass folding underfoot. Albus can feel the sweat pooling at his temples almost immediately but the heat distracts him, makes it harder to focus on Gellert next to him. They walk together and Gellert takes them down the street, past the church and its cemetery. They keep going, down the hill that leads into the vast expanse of the countryside. In the distance, Albus can see the rising hill dotted with evergreens. As far as he can see, there's nothing but shadows and darkness.

"I want to tell you something," Gellert says. 

He sounds uncertain which is odd in itself. But when Albus turns to him, there's something almost sad to Gellert's expression, as though the conversation is costing him greatly. 

"What is it?" Albus asks.

"Let me show you something."

He doesn't wait for Albus to answer, just tugs at the silver chain Albus has seen hanging at his neck. He pulls it over his head, cupping his hands protectively around the pendant. Gellert motions him closer and Albus goes until they're standing face to face, close enough to kiss, close enough that there's no room for secrets between them. 

"Let me tell you about the Hallows," Gellert says.

He opens his hands and nestled between them is a silver pendant, a small triangle enclosing a circle, bisected by a thin rod.

"This is my greatest secret, Albus," Gellert says. "I want to share it with you."

"Why?" Albus asks. 

Gellert looks at him. "Isn't it obvious?" he asks, his expression neutral as he blinks. "I trust you."

-

This is the truth Gellert tells Albus on a warm summer night in July. 

They're both seventeen, Gellert newly so and Albus at the end of it. In the darkness and the rolling fields, Gellert leans in close and tells him about immortality. About a wand so great its owner would be undefeatable. 

"No more loses, Albus," Gellert says, leans closer, says it again and again as though he needs Albus to understand the significance. "No one would be able to hurt us."

Albus listens, captivated. He imagines a world where he can hold Gellert's hand and not be afraid, a place where Ariana is allowed outside, where he and Aberforth are free of a responsibility neither of them asked for. 

"There's a stone that brings back the dead," Gellert says. "Imagine what we could do with an army of the undead."

Albus thinks of his mother, her grey hair and bright blue eyes. How she'd baked bread in the mornings and pies in the afternoon. He thinks of his father, of the missing years and the absence that feels like lead in Albus's chest. They'd be back and Ariana would have a family. 

"Then there's the cloak," Gellert goes on, his voice carrying through the night. "I think it's here in Godric's Hollow. We can look for it and I'll show you it's all true."

But Albus already believes him. 

"How can I help?" he asks.

Gellert looks up, surprise etched across his features. "You believe me," he says.

"I do," Albus tells him.

And so, on a summer night in July, it begins.

-

Their first kiss is a soft unspoken thing between them, lost as they are to the wild night. The summer breeze ruffles their hair, the heavy scent of evening-primrose along the street, the yellow petals, the first bright spots in an otherwise moonless night. Albus is high off the possibilities, immortality, resurrection. To be free and powerful, to hold everything in his hands and share it with Gellert. It sings in his veins, a deep desperate desire to consume, to own. He doesn't mean for the kiss to happen. It just does. 

One moment they're laughing, two boys on a secret mission to Godric's Hollow Cemetery, jumping over the fence and dashing through the ordered tombstones. Gellert takes off into the darkness, his bright blond head easy to spot in the night. Albus follows quieter, his eyes out for the church watchman, his hand on his wand. He wishes to run with Gellert, to own some piece of that wildness, unbothered and free. But between the two of them, Gellert has the least to lose and Albus was never made for such dangerous things. 

He means only to follow Gellert to Ignotus Peverell's tomb, to confirm for himself the existence of the Cloak of Invisibility. But the night is cool and the sound of Gellert's laughter in the darkness is an intoxicating thing. He's shining, the light from his wand turning his hair almost green. Albus feels the tightness in his chest and this time, he lets it move him forward. 

It's nothing to cross the space between them, to get his hands in Gellert's hair, to press their lips together. He swallows the first gasp of surprise, doesn't know if it comes from him or Gellert, until even that ceases to matter. He feels Gellert's arm around his neck, his hand at Albus's side, his mouth hard and demanding. 

Finally, he seems to say as he presses his body against Albus. 

Finally.

-

Their first time together goes like this, clumsy kisses exchanged in Gellert's room, behind the closed door at the end of the hallway in Bathilda's house. Silent desperate things that leave Albus gasping for breath. He can feel the experience in the way Gellert gets his hands under Albus's robes, that demanding press of his body against Albus, the smooth deliberate slide. He's warm all over, hard and aching as Gellert's mouth promises wicked things in his ear. 

It's never been this good with anyone. Never quite this sharp and focused. Never anything that leaves Albus gasping for breath, his heart beating hard in his chest. He aches with something that threatens to swallow him whole, a clawing at his chest that leaves him breathless. Gellert kisses him and Albus feels an overwhelming desire to cry. 

He doesn't know what it is until later, when Gellert is on his knees, his mouth warm and wet around Albus's cock. He looks beautiful, bright red high on his cheeks as he looks up at Albus and sinks lower. Impossible that something so beautiful can exist in the world, that Albus gets to have this. That he can reach down and tangle his fingers in Gellert's hair. That he gets to feel that building of desire, the tightening in his muscles before the release. It's impossible that this is what Albus has been missing, that what lay underneath his skin and wouldn't let him live was the desire to possess Gellert, to have him in this way.

All he needed was to get his hands on Gellert's hair, on his warm body, to have the heavy weight of his cock in Albus's hand. He listens to the bitten off groans, the soft pants into his ear, quiet words lost in between hungry kisses. Gellert feels good against Albus, all of him hard and masculine, undeniable want between them. But it's more than that, it's the way Gellert whispers Albus's name as he comes, how he leans his body against Albus and says, "I love you," over and over, presses it into the hollow of Albus's throat.

The ache in Albus's chest is so strong, he thinks he'll drown in it. 

"I love you," he whispers, lets the night carry away his words, lets Gellert press kisses to the corner of his mouth.

I love you, like a sentence. Undeniable now. 

It's out there for Gellert to see and all Albus can do is accept his love in return, pretend he doesn't see the end of their story in the longing on Gellert's face. 

-

He loses count of the number of times they touch, the comings and goings of their passions. They get careless, press kisses into each other's mouths in the shade of the trees in Bathilda's backyard, within spitting distance of Aberforth. In between the spaces of the cottages, hidden as best they can in the shadows, Albus learns the shape of Gellert's mouth, the sounds he makes when he wants to come and can't because the angle is wrong, because they can't bring attention to themselves. 

It's a different kind of power and no less intoxicating for it. Albus learns that if he gives Gellert a certain look, he'll be distracted for the rest of the evening. In the presence of others, it's easy to say things without words, to accept Gellert's hard heady stare, the one that promises messy kisses and frantic attempts at keeping quiet. 

They pretend there's no rush, that as the first week of August passes, Gellert doesn't hold on tighter, doesn't kiss Albus hard enough to bruise. They pretend they have all the time in the world and because they pretend so much, Albus comes to believe it. He believes it so strongly that the day he turns eighteen, he doesn't notice Gellert's silence. Instead, he enjoys the way Gellert can't seem to let him go, how he keeps pulling Albus close, how he kisses him until Albus stops trying to go home. 

"Don't leave me," he says in between their sheets. 

Outside, the cicadas' song has died down, their constant hums reduced to almost nothing. 

"Promise you won't forget me," Gellert says. "No matter what happens."

Albus thinks of Paris and the sun shining down on them, of Ariana and Aberforth, of three years stuck in Godric's Hollow. He thinks of Gellert's smile, of the wildness of his passions, the way he winks at Albus, something private and only for him. 

If he asks, Albus will go with him. 

"I won't," Albus says. "I promise I won't."

He's too young then to know exactly how much he means those words, too young to stop himself when Gellert presses him down into the sheets and touches him. 

"I love you," he says, in between kisses, his hand taking hold of Albus's cock and moving in that slow welcomed twist. "No one understands me the way you do, Albus. Only you."

His kisses are hard, possessive things that leave Albus shaking. He's lost in the pleasure building low in his belly, that warmth that overwhelms him in the best way. He can feel Gellert hard against him, his words fast and desperate.

"Only us, Albus," he says into the hollow of Albus's throat, biting down until Albus hisses, until they get lost in the heat between them. 

"I can make it true," Gellert says. "I can make it real, just me and you. No one will ever get between us. Not even ourselves."

He doesn't say no to the blood pact because there, at last, is a way for Albus to keep the promise he made to Gellert at the end of June, when they'd laid in the grass and talked about their past. He says yes, says it again as Gellert slides into him, as they move together towards release, their bodies moving against each other, hands grasping at the sheets beneath them. Until Albus throws his head back and comes with Gellert's name on his lips. So many times now, it's delightfully expected, that kind of good that can come only from two people knowing each other's bodies well. 

After, Albus gives the vial with their blood to Gellert because the thought of Gellert carrying it around his neck, nestled next to the Deathly Hallows pendant, next to the manifestation of what they're trying to do together, is right in a way Albus can't explain. Right in a way that promises forever.

-

The end, when it comes, is too fast for Albus to stop it. 

It starts with Aberforth red with rage, shouting terrible truths in Albus's face. "You don't give a fuck about her," he says. "You never did."

"Aberforth," Albus says, reaches out for his brother, but Aberforth jerks away. 

It's the shouting, the way Aberforth doesn't seem to care that everyone can hear them.

Their mother always cared. 

"You're leaving with him, aren't you?" Aberforth asks, his face twisted with hatred. "You're leaving with that piece of shit Dark wizard in the making. Is that what you want? To be his sidekick? I thought you were better than that, Albus. I thought you'd grown tired of being second best all your life."

He doesn't need to say who was first in their home, who was better and kinder. Albus has always known where he stood in their mother's esteem, how even though she saw their future in him, she'd always loved Aberforth more for what he did for Ariana.

"He's not second best."

It's Gellert, his voice cold and emotionless. Albus knows where this is going long before Aberforth pulls out his wand. He steps in, draws his own. He doesn't know what he intends to do with it, knows only that he can't let Gellert and Aberforth harm each other, that foolish though it may be to do so, Aberforth means to try. 

"Stop," Albus says.

"You disgust me," Aberforth tells them.

He doesn't mean it like that, doesn't mean it like the Durmstrang boys who'd put their hands on Gellert and then tossed him out the next morning. He doesn't mean it like Gellert's father, unadulterated hatred in his words. Aberforth means only that Albus intends to leave, that he means to abandon the family, that he'd be the first Dumbledore to do so. That even so, he'd do it without hesitation.

"I'm not going anywhere," Albus says.

He doesn't know he means it until the words are out of his mouth, until he's looking into Gellert's hurt expression. He schools his face almost at once, something resigned and closed off replacing the pain. Albus reaches out to him, tries to hide the hurt when Gellert flinches away from him.

Aberforth laughs. "He's ours," he says, deliberately cruel.

It happens too fast.

One moment, Albus is moving to explain, to do anything to take away the pain in Gellert's eyes. _I'm yours,_ he wants to say. To explain that distance means nothing. That they could be apart and Albus would still want him, would still dream of the sounds he made at night. _Wait for me,_ he wants to say. It'll only be three years. 

The next moment, Ariana's in the backyard, her eyes wide with fear as she looks at their outstretched arms, Aberforth and Gellert's wands still pointed at each other. It isn't her fault. Albus knows she only means to help, to soothe the ache and hurt between the three of them, that deep sense of betrayal. She moves too fast, her hand going for Gellert's wand as Aberforth tries to hold her back.

They each cast a spell and in the mad rush of bodies, instinct takes over. Albus doesn't say a spell aloud but there's a bang, a burst of red light like fire erupting from the centre where their spells meet.

When the smoke clears, Ariana is dead. 

-

"Come with me, Albus," Gellert says, but they both know he can't. 

Not now. 

Not after everything.

-

Their last kiss is something quick and hard. It holds the summer of 1899, its humidity and the hum of cicadas, the sound of teenage laughter smothered between kisses. 

Gellert's hands are sure on Albus, their faces close together as they part. There's more than distance in the space between them, more than an ache that threatens to consume them. When they move away, Albus can feel the shattering of this fragile thing between them. He knows, deep down, that they were never meant to be more than one perfect summer. 

"Will I see you again?" Albus asks because he has to, because to not know would be worse. 

Gellert stops at the edge of the garden, the moonlight throwing shadows across his face. In the distance, he looks like he did the first time they met, beautiful and unattainable. He smiles as though he feels it too, that pang of remembrance. 

"You promised," he says. "You said you'd never forget me."

"That doesn't answer my question," Albus says, feels the beginnings of tears at the corner of his eyes. 

Gellert smiles, one leg thrown over the fence. "You can't get rid of me that easily, Albus," he says. "Not after everything."

Then, with a twirl of his cloak, he Disapparates.


End file.
